


a discovery of a still greater moment

by whythinktoomuch



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, bizarro is supposed to spy on Lena and falls in hearteyes instead, ends as about as well as it could/should have methinks, this is basically my attempt to provoke Mary Shelley into bullying me, when we eventually meet in the afterlife lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whythinktoomuch/pseuds/whythinktoomuch
Summary: She tilts her head, curious, studying the offered hand in a blinking silence. But he waits. He isn’t impatient. And when she eventually wraps her fingers around his hand in a tentative squeeze, he doesn’t recoil at the feel of her coarse, flaking skin“They call me Lex,” he says, shaking her hand. “What should I call you?”Her tongue feels clumsy as it attempts to give shape to a word scarcely used in her already much fragmented vocabulary, “… Bizarro.”a.k.a. the Bizarro AU, that's somehow spiraled out of control, lol.
Relationships: (kinda) - Relationship, Bizarro Supergirl/Lena Luthor, and some background sc because that's just how it is
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

She wakes up, and doesn’t recognize her surroundings nor the person peering down at her. But he must recognize her because he smiles.

 _“There_ you are,” he says, his tone rolling over her, smooth and soothing, readily dispatching her nerves before they can overreact. “I was beginning to think that we might have lost you forever, which would have been such a shame, considering all the trouble we went through just to find you.”

“Lost,” she echoes softly. The rasp of her voice is dry with disuse, her throat lodged with jagged rocks in lieu of words. Still, she tries, “… Me?”

“Yes, _you.”_ He makes his way over, and everything about the approach is as slow and calming as needed: the casual stride, his casual smile, the casual way he takes her hand and gently pats it with his own. “You’re a very precious thing, you know.”

No. She doesn’t know that.

There was a time when she might have believed it—embraced _perfect_ as if that name could ever suit her—but so much has happened since then.

She takes back her hand. His smile never wavers.

“Here, let me show you. Thompson?” He gestures at someone behind him, another man who steps forward holding out a large—

An icy blue swallows up her vision, smashing the fleeting image before her into a spiral of blood and broken glass. She’s heaving now, hard-pressed for empty air, while the one called Thompson just screams and screams.

“Hey, hey, shh… You’re okay…” A light hand settles on her shoulder, and he’s addressing her like she’s the last thing left in the world. He continues to make soft shushing sounds, squeezing her shoulder at comforting intervals until her thoughts outweigh her breaths once more. “It wasn’t a mirror, okay? I wouldn’t do that to you… You can even check the room. Go on.”

She lets out a sharp, stuttering exhale, and lets her eyes wander in fitful jerks and twitches. There’s not much in the room besides the bed she’s sitting up on, the machines she’s hooked up to, and the handful of men still scattered about. No mirrors. No windows. Nothing reflective at all.

“Are we good?”

She nods. “Yes. Good.”

“Good!” He snaps his fingers, nods down at Thompson, who’s now curled up on the floor, clutching at what’s left of his hand. “Come on, get him out of here.”

Two men promptly step forward, hauling Thompson out of the room without any ceremony. It leaves her alone with the gentle man, which is quieter and much better.

“Sorry,” she says, but he waves away the apology with a snort.

“Why? I knew that was going to happen.” He reaches behind his back. “Now I want to show you something. It’s not a mirror. It’s a _tablet,_ with pictures that might be of some interest to you.” A slow smile comes over his face, and she slowly smiles back. “May I show you these pictures?”

At that, she blinks, unable to remember if anyone’s ever done that before. Requested her permission for anything. “… Yes.”

“All right, but just keep in mind that my hands are a _lot_ more valuable than Thompson’s over there, okay?” He reveals the tablet, but unlike the previous, it’s already displaying an image on screen. Her breath picks up right away. “So, you remember him?”

“Yes.” She swallows. “James Olsen.”

He narrows his eyes in amusement. “Ah, you still like him, don’t you?”

“No,” she says, suddenly vehement. “ _Love”_

“Right, right. You still _love_ him then?” He’s still gentle, still kind. He’s not ridiculing her, but she falls silent anyway. “I figured as much. After all, you’ve been out for quite some time now. But no time like the present to catch you up, no?”

He moves on to the next photo, and she feels a violent pang in her chest—familiar, though distanced as always. She flinches away from the screen. “Supergirl,” she says without prompting.

“Correct again, but don’t worry. This isn’t about her.” He shrugs then, indifferent yet dismissive. “Well, it’s a _little_ bit about her. But much more importantly and to the point, this is about _you…_ and _her.”_ The following photo sends the few words still left in her grasp spiraling wildly out of reach; it breaks apart her thoughts and pieces out of them something that could only ever be felt. “This is Lena. My sister.”

She shakes her head, reservations overwhelmed in frustration. “Don’t. _Know_ her.”

“No, you don’t.” He sets the tablet aside, and it’s terrible, because now the image can only exist within her splintering memories. “But you will. Because we’re going to work together.”

“… How?”

“You and Supergirl have a lot in common, right? In fact, one might even say that you and _Kara_ have a lot in common too.” He takes a patient beat, another polite request for affirmation that she satisfies with a hesitant nod. “And Lena… Well, she seems to have some sort of sway over them—both the hero _and_ the girl—and I just need your help in figuring it all out.”

She doesn’t quite understand. She was designed for one thing, and one thing only. “But… no hurting?”

“Oh, of course not.” He says it so easily, stealing away all the tension from the room with a single laugh. “We’re not going to hurt any of them. This is just research, plain and simple. Make sense?”

No, it doesn’t. But he has yet to do anything that would hurt her, so she nods. Perhaps, in time, it will make sense.

“Great! So, what do you say? Partners?”

She tilts her head, curious, studying the offered hand in a blinking silence. But he waits. He isn’t impatient. And when she eventually wraps her fingers around his hand in a tentative squeeze, he doesn’t recoil at the feel of her coarse, flaking skin

“They call me Lex,” he says, shaking her hand. “What should I call you?”

Her tongue feels clumsy as it attempts to give shape to a word scarcely used in her already much fragmented vocabulary, “… _Bizarro.”_


	2. Chapter 2

Research is a long, arduous process.

It’s demanding because Lex prefers to be thorough, but worth it because she wants to be of use. The goal is to learn everything there is to be learned about her, which Lex seems to mention as often as possible. Not that she minds. The redundancy of such a reminder actually makes her feel important. It makes her feel of some value for once in her life.

Supergirl must feel like this all the time.

The first round of testing is to determine how her abilities measure up against Supergirl’s. Her invulnerability, super-strength, and flight speeds seem all to please him, which in turn pleases her. But what fascinates Lex the most would be her ability to both breathe fire and freeze the air with just a look.

“Your powers are diametrically opposed to Supergirl’s, which makes you the _perfect_ mirror image,” Lex says, and she smiles even though the epithet rings paradoxical to her ears. “Do you know what that means?”

He pauses, waiting for her response—something he still does despite already having her loyalty at his disposal. Participation is important to him.

When she shakes her head, Lex casually reaches into his pocket. “It means that this can’t hurt you,” he says, opening his hand to reveal a tiny slab of the most vibrant green.

A muffled hum crawls into her head. The sound spreads then solidifies into a fever that ripples throughout her body. In her panic-stricken haste to escape the feeling, she flies backwards and crashes into the wall hard enough to warp the metal into a crude semblance of her form. _“No.”_

“It’s just kryptonite. Like I said, it can’t hurt you.” Lex’s head is tilted in clear amusement, but he wasn’t there when it happened. She had never known its name, but her only encounter with the green light had left devastating consequences permanently knitted to her skin.

 _“Yes,_ hurt,” she huffs out, emphatic. _“Yes, change!”_

Lex’s mirth quickly crosses over into curiosity, and he begins his careful approach. “It changes you? How?” She tries to retreat farther into the wall, further into the darkness, but Lex’s tone remains ever so gentle, “Can you show me…?”

She doesn’t want to, but Lex wants her to, and he’s still asking instead of taking. Detaching herself from the wall behind her, she meets him halfway in slow, lumbering steps and holds out her hand.

The delicate rock has barely grazed her palm when her skin starts to deteriorate around it. Her entire hand drains of what little color it had left, the surface fragmenting at the seams like a particularly unruly stretch of earth. She allows the decay to travel up to her wrist before letting go.

Lex spares not one glance for the kryptonite clattering onto the floor, instead taking her hand in both of his for a closer look. “Incredible…” he murmurs, his fingertips brushing over the hardened cracks in her palm. “Did that hurt you? Are you in any pain right now?”

Her grasp of spoken language, as slippery as it already is, often falls short of the intangible. The kryptonite left a rupture that thumps in her chest, echoed only in places that she can’t see for herself. But her hand is fine; it will work the way it’s meant to. “… No.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

She struggles and struggles, and comes up with, _“Ugly.”_

“And how is that a bad thing?” Lex asks, because as always, he requires precision, no matter how obvious or poorly articulated by her unpracticed tongue.

“Everyone… leaves.”

“Well, I haven’t left, and if _this—”_ Lex squeezes her hand like it doesn’t disgust him—“keeps people away, that’s a _good_ thing. Because that means they can’t hurt you. Do you understand?”

Oh, yes. That much, she can understand.

Two of his men show up at the door, signaling that it’s time for Lex to get back to his prison cell, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from her. “What you’re feeling right now isn’t pain,” he continues to explain to her. “This is _strength._ An _advantage._ It’s what makes you better than Supergirl.”

 _“Better_ than Supergirl…” she agrees with a hesitant nod.

Lex’s smile is broad as he slowly shakes his head in muted wonder. “Max Lord is a goddamn fool for letting you go,” he insists, releasing her hand with care. “And I may be a lot of things, but I’m no fool.”

He leaves her, but the promise sewn into his parting words is a veritable balm for the imminent sting of his absence. He’ll return to her because he’s always returned to her. What’s a few hours—or days, or even a week—of solitude when weighed against that certainty?

 _This is strength,_ she reminds herself, settling back in her bed with only a nameless man standing guard at the door for company. _Strength feels like_ this.

//

“You like her,” Lex says one day, and it chafes her sensibilities because he’s not usually wrong about things. Especially things about her.

She drops her tablet, with one of the many uploaded videos still playing out on screen. But the topic, apparently, isn’t to be dropped quite as easily because Lex simply picks it right back up.

“Ah, the TED Talk on molecular nanotech…” he muses with a soft chuckle. “You know, this is from almost ten years ago, and she’s already refuted nearly half of what’s proposed here.”

“Lena is smart,” she says haltingly, frowning.

“Oh, _very_ smart. That’s what makes her smart, actually: being able to admit when she’s wrong.” Lex sets the tablet back in her hands, and she clutches onto her only source of Lena with an eagerness verging on greed. “But even the smartest people can have moments of willful ignorance, you know?”

… Should she know?

Lex checks his watch, and sure enough, his men are at the door, ready to steal his presence away from her again. But he holds them back with a raised finger before turning back to her. “I have to go now, but I do have a task for you to complete while I’m gone.”

“Task?” Immediately, she draws herself up—purpose not only straightening out her spine, but diluting her need for little else. “What task?”

“I’d like you to learn something about Lena.”

With an inevitable frown forming, she touches a hand to her tablet in silent question, but Lex shakes his head.

“No, I want you to go _see_ her,” he says, inspiring something prickly and fast-paced to rush through her nervous system. “Find her, follow her around, watch what she does, and the next time we meet, you can show me what you’ve learned.”

“Learn, _what?”_

Lex shrugs as he gathers up his materials. “It doesn’t matter. This is more for your sake than mine, and as long as you’re not seen by anyone, the sky’s the limit. Literally.” He pauses at the door, turning around to look her right in the eye. “You can do this, Bizarrogirl. You should trust your gut; I know I do.”

Then Lex leaves, and she’s left with a remarkable feeling— _strength,_ flowering in her chest in a way that could never be mistaken for pain—because this is the very first time he’s ever referred to her by such a name, and maybe he’s right.

It _is_ better than Supergirl.


	3. Chapter 3

She keeps to the darkness, keeps quiet, and keeps her distance, just the way she’s been trained to. She watches Lena, and she does it quite well. The difficult part, though, is settling on the _one thing_ that she should be learning from these endeavors. Because Lena does a great many things throughout her day—often up before the sun, and only homeward bound long after it’s set.

But after three long days of shadowing, there is indeed one feature in particular that seems to warrant the most attention: a dark fleck, nestled in the pale expanse of her vulnerable throat.

When she tries to encapsulate the entirety of that observation into words at her disposal, however, the best she can manage is, “Lena, not ugly.”

Lex doesn’t reply for a long while, which isn’t typical of him, but his tone isn’t unkind when he finally asks, “Is that it?”

“Yes.” She frowns, because why _couldn’t_ that be it?

But Lex sighs, and that soft sound uproots her peace at its very core. “I wanted you to bring me a fact,” he says. “Not develop an opinion.”

“Different how?” she demands.

“Well, for one, I need evidence.” Lex takes her hand, turning it over to reveal her palm, forever marked and marred by her most recent encounter with kryptonite. “I need you to _show_ me something. Something _real._ Otherwise, it doesn’t count. Do you understand?”

And she nods, because yes, that is perfectly understandable. Even to her.

//

With much repurposed effort, she watches and waits while Lena does her work. Then she watches Lena take her leave, then waits some more.

It’s only when the top floor of the building is emptied of all people that she flies over, slipping into Lena’s office through the balcony door that’s never locked, and secures what she needs.

The next time Lex pays her a visit, she drops an armful of her spoils right at his feet.

“Lena likes coffee,” she announces boldly.

Lex is clearly taken aback at first, blinking and still. But then he grabs one of the many empty coffee cups now littered across the floor, and a slow smile dawns on his face. “All right. _Now_ we’re getting somewhere.”

She grins so wide that it strains the corners of her lips.

//

“Lena is cold,” she says a handful of days later, presenting a delicate black glove for Lex’s amusement and perusal.

“Yes, well, most people are when it snows,” he says.

“Not me.”

“Well, you’re not exactly most people now, are you?” Lex’s pride in her is absolutely infectious, so she grins. “Of course not. You’re… _exquisite.”_

“Good thing?” she asks. It’s usually the first question that wells up inside of her upon hearing new words.

“A _very_ good thing,” Lex confirms with a playful wink.

Over the last two weeks, his visits have dropped from often to somewhat often enough, dividing his precious attention between her and another project of his. It’s been a near impossible change for her to weather, but moments like this definitely help with the transition.

That is, until Lex slips the glove on.

She watches him flex his fingers one by one, coercing the taut leather into crackling loudly in her ears, and retreats somewhere deep inside herself. She fights determinedly against the frown threatening to twist her features into something uglier.

The glove isn’t hers. It’s not Lex’s either, but his hand fits so perfectly that it could very well be his if he wanted.

“Not actually all that warm,” Lex comments, snorting when he peeks inside the glove. “And yet, pricier than your average first class ticket to Paris… A little superficial, if you ask me.”

She nods as appropriate, but most of her concern is still with the glove and how Lex stuffs it into his back pocket like it doesn’t mean a thing.

//

“Why, yes, her hair is _indeed_ very long,” Lex says, accepting the offering of Lena’s hairbrush, complete with stray strands of dark hair still caught in its teeth as ample proof of this careful observation of hers. “This, Bizarrogirl, is absolutely _perfect.”_

And it is. Because this isn’t just a smattering of coffee cups that had been tossed in the trash, or a lone glove left behind in the snow during a hasty commute. No, this is something she actually had to break into Lena’s apartment for, in the middle of the workday, undetected even in broad daylight.

But even all that and more couldn’t outweigh the very simple fact that Lex has the means to kill her now.

Evidently, a big part of his new project has been synthesizing a strain of kryptonite that would be lethal only to her. And he must have succeeded, because today, he’s armed with blue-tipped syringes that can pierce her skin.

It’s for research purposes. It’s the only way that Lex can collect blood samples and study her molecular makeup and such, which would only help her in the long run. Lex, of course, would never hurt her.

Except it _does_ hurt.

Each needle sinks into her arm in an acute twinge, and she can feel the aftereffects of the breach slithering inside her head. It’s worse than the green light. It makes her stomach dry out like a desert rock, and tugs cool drops of sweat onto the surface of her blanching skin.

But Lex must notice the unrest coming alive inside of her because he lets her keep the hairbrush.

“Mine?” she asks, cradling the brush in her hands. It’s been relieved of all traces of Lena, which isn’t all that important. She’s seen Lena use it enough times that it’s still rightly precious.

“No, it’s still Lena’s,” Lex corrects her with a gentle smile. “But you can keep it,” which is the best possible answer he could have given her.

//

Lena is unwinding at home, and she’s watching her do so from her favorite spot in the sky, drawing from her x-ray vision and super-hearing with an ease that is now very practiced.

Everything is pleasantly routine until Kara knocks on Lena’s door, which is still very routine until they start raising their voices at each other. They exchange some words that she doesn’t quite understand with many implications that perhaps she will never understand. Then Supergirl is leaving through the balcony, flying off into the night in a blur of boastful reds and blues, while Lena is left behind to yell at herself and cry in unpredictable bursts.

Lena ultimately ends up in her kitchen, pouring herself glass after glass of something makes the air taste sharp and bitter. Halfway through her third glass, she’s slumping over, her head drooping then dropping onto her folded arms, breath gradually slowing and deepening.

She watches Lena sleep, waiting until the waiting becomes unbearable. There are all sorts of reasons why she shouldn’t, but she touches down onto the balcony, naught but a fleeting shadow as she sidles into the apartment and finds herself in Lena’s presence for the very first time.

The bitter taste is stronger in her nose now, but so is everything else to be perceived about Lena—everything from the soft snores to the slight warmth her body gives off once within reach.

And she risks that everything for a single touch.

Her fingertips brush right along where Lena’s long hair starts to end. The touch is light, the contact brief, yet it stirs something pure, frenzied, and fluttering in her chest. Then Lena sniffles and mumbles into her own arm, “… Kara?” and the moment spills into reality.

Teeth baring, she plucks the glass from Lena’s fragile grip with just enough care that it doesn’t shatter and leaves the same way Supergirl had barely an hour before.

//

She sets the glass before Lex with a decisive _clack!_ that calls his attention away from his computer.

“Oh hello…” Lex sits up with a small chuckle. “And what’s this? Are we celebrating now?”

“Lena is sad.”

Lex is out of his chair in a flash, his stare wild as he promptly demands, “What happened? What did you see?”

“Kara came. They talked.” She squeezes her right fist, digging her nails into her palm the way she’s supposed to when things overwhelm her. “Then Supergirl left and… Lena is sad.”

Lex bursts into laughter. He doesn’t stop laughing for the rest of the night.

//

She doesn’t want to learn things about Lena anymore.

Things are so different now. Lena is quieter, often alone. She spends most of her time at work and not nearly enough time maintaining habits that are meant to keep her alive.

But Lex insists that she still keep watch, so she does it, and she still does it so well. She works at it even harder, in fact, now that his visits have become even fewer and farther in between as of late. Lex’s other project is supposedly not as important as she is, but it siphons off his time like it must be.

Lena’s new routine is polished, heavily sanitized, and well-established until the moment she breaks it in favor of tasting the nighttime air. She steps onto her balcony in clothes made for sleep and with a glass filled with something more sweet than bitter. Her eyes narrow up at the darkened sky. She stares, as if expectant.

“… Is there somebody out there?” Lena’s soft question is inevitably met with silence, so she sighs and leans her elbows precariously atop the railing, head slightly ducked. Her next question slips out in a dropped whisper, “… Who _are_ you?” And suddenly, Lena’s become tangible and more than just another person waiting for Supergirl to save her.

Bizarrogirl glides from shadow to shadow, trailing the darkness until she reaches the far corner of Lena’s balcony, where she settles in, secluded and silent. Lena doesn’t turn around, but her heartbeat is readily transparent enough for the both of them that it doesn’t matter.

“Hello, Lena,” she says.

Lena sighs into her glass. “So, are you the one stealing my things then?”

“Yes.”

“You know… I really did think that I was just going crazy. That I was somehow conjuring up senseless conspiracies because god forbid I ever misplace something like a _normal_ person.” Lena pauses then, to take a small sip of her drink and chuckle. “But then, you went ahead and took my favorite glass right out of my hand…”

She can’t help but smile. “You are smart.”

“Allegedly,” Lena says, shrugging. She looks over her shoulder, blinks blearily right into the darkness. “You’re really not going to show yourself, huh?”

“Never.” She holds onto her breath, but the follow-up question never comes.

Instead, Lena just nods and faces forward once more. “Believe me, I’d be doing the same thing if I could,” she says quietly, and leaves it at that.

A few minutes drag by before she finally has to ask, “Not… scared?”

“Should I be?”

“No,” she admits after some hesitation, even though the _should_ of things hardly ever seem to correlate with the reality of them.

“Well, there we go then,” Lena says, rubbing at her eyes with a resigned sigh. “Listen. I’m just… so tired right now, and frankly, I just don’t have it in me to address whatever it is that you’re trying to do. But to be completely _honest—”_ she tosses back the last of her drink in a single swallow—“I have enough things. So… consider this a freebie.”

“… Freebie?”

Lena pushes off the railing, exhaling half-hearted laughter. “Yes, _freebie._ I’m leaving this for you right here, okay? No need to resort to petty theft or breaking and entering.” She places the empty wineglass right outside her door, but pauses before stepping over the threshold. “So, what is your name anyway?”

The most obvious answer—so carefully practiced, so clumsily and repeatedly sounded out in the safety of her own bed and darkness—feels wrong in the moment. A lie, somehow, in the face of Lena’s undeserved generosity.

“You _do_ have a name, don’t you?” Lena glances over, head tilted curiously, and their eyes almost meet in spite of all the shadows cast between them.

“No,” she manages to say, her fingernails biting fiercely into her own palm. “No name.”

Lena gives a hum, one so thoughtful and reminiscent of her brother. “Well… that’s something you’ll have to steal from someone else, I’m afraid.”

She watches Lena leave, but waits until all the lights disappear before reaching for the glass.

//

It takes two days for Lex to pay her another visit, and he strides into her room to find her distracted, turning the wineglass over and over in her hands in a mindless habit. He frowns when she doesn’t immediately offer it up to him.

“So, did you learn anything?” Lex asks, and she just nods. “… And?”

She rolls her right hand into a fist so tight that her entire hand feels like a bruise. “Not scared.”

“Lena’s… not _scared.”_ Lex studies the wineglass, then calmly directs his sharp gaze back at her face. “I see.”

He doesn’t ask for further clarification, or any other question, or _anything_ at all for that matter. He just leaves, and she feels nothing about it.


	4. Chapter 4

Lex hasn’t visited her in weeks.

She asks about him twice, and the men left to look after her will only say that he’s busy with his other project. Maybe that should tear at her peace more than it does, but she’s fine. No one ever tries to stop her when she wanders off or leaves the premises, so it doesn’t affect her daily life one bit.

Although, she is now without purpose. There are no more tests to be subjected to, no more orders to be followed, no more things to be learned. She can spend her entire day drifting skywards if she wants, straying higher and higher up into the air. High enough that it leaves her thoughts scattered and suspended in the utter lack of oxygen. High enough that she can barely hear the world bustling on below her, carrying on without her as intended, like it never needed her in the first place.

She goes back to watching Lena, mainly out of boredom, though she doesn’t realize it until the sight of Lena saves her from it.

At first glance, Lena’s routine appears to not have suffered any interruptions, seemingly untouched by the brief encounter that she herself still relives during quieter moments of the day. But come nightfall, Lena is out on her balcony again, cradling a freshly refilled tumbler of scotch. She doesn’t say a thing this time, nor does anything that can be misconstrued as an invitation, so for the moment, they both stay put in their own respective worlds.

After nearly 300 breaths, Lena’s glass is empty and she’s sparing a brief glance for the starless sky, squinting ever so slightly. It’s a short-lived moment, but one worth waiting for nonetheless. Especially when soon afterwards, Lena runs her fingers through her hair a handful of times, each pass subtle yet hypnotic and fraught with meaning. She eventually comes away with five pieces of flimsy black metal cradled in her palm.

The bobby pins sit in a small pile on the ledge of the balcony, awaiting her approach until the lamps go out for the night.

//

They have come to a simple agreement. It’s established in silence and without name, yet threads itself seamlessly into both of their routines.

Every other night, Lena leaves something of hers out on the balcony, often gently placed on the ledge, within reach only to a scant few. Then Bizarrogirleventually comes and relieves her of said item before the sun gets the chance to color the National City skyline.

That’s when shelves appear in her room, installed by Lex’s men shortly after this newfound arrangement with Lena had become a veritable habit. It’s a thoughtful reminder of how Lex can still anticipate her needs from wherever he is without her, which is perhaps the exact right amount of contact she should be having with him anyway.

She keeps her precious collection of things gifted on these shelves, placed neatly one after the other as she comes upon them.

It’s never anything big. Just small mementos that feel like trophies only through association: a fountain pen, a tube of lipstick, some hair-ties, a well-worn bookmark, a knitted scarf left neatly wrapped around the railing, and such. But it’s still a heretofore inexperienced form of attention for her, because Lena never asks for anything in return.

They don’t actually cross paths or speak again, however, until there’s finally a gift that exists far beyond her grasp. For that one, she waits in her favorite corner of the balcony until Lena comes to her.

She slides the gift out from the shadows and within view of Lena. Despite her efforts, it doesn’t get very far—it’s only paper, after all, though slightly firmer than the normal kind—but Lena’s steps falter all the same.

“Let me guess…” Lena says softly, perfectly. “Too cheesy.”

“I can’t read,” she says, and Lena immediately starts swearing under her breath.

“Oh, god, I didn’t even _think—”_ Lena snatches the greeting card off the ground, hastily crumpling it down into something shapeless. “Well, truth be told, I didn’t even buy this myself—my _assistant_ did—so, maybe it’s for the best…”

“Maybe,” she says, shrugging, and Lena just lets out a long-suffering sigh, perhaps for her own benefit.

“Please tell me you enjoyed the chocolates at least?”

She nods this time, smiling wide. “Yes. _Very_ pretty.”

“Pretty…” Lena’s eyes narrow very thoughtfully. “You did eat them, right?”

“Eat what?”

“The… _chocolates._ I mean, you have to actually—you know— _open_ the box.” Lena’s laughing now, a hand touched to her forehead, dark hair fluttering as she shakes her head, and it’s the most lovely combination to be witness to. “So, the one time I try to get you something just for yourself, absolutely _everything_ falls apart. Kinda feels like it’s my fault.”

“Yes, probably,” she agrees, but given the heavy way Lena sighs at that, maybe it wasn’t the right answer after all.

Lena turns away slightly. She’s already so small, but she becomes even more so when she wraps her arms around herself. “So, how was your Valentine’s Day? Good?”

She mulls over the question, trying to give it the very weight it undoubtedly deserves, then says, “I don’t know.”

Lena snorts, a tiny sound and a significant revelation rolled into one. “Well, what did you do yesterday?”

“Watched, waited.” She shrugs. “Same everyday.”

“That’s not so different from my day too, actually.”

“You worked.”

Lena glances over her shoulder, and it’s unnerving even though human eyes are poorly equipped to breach such darkness. “You were watching _me_ then?”

“… Yes,” she admits hesitantly. The word somehow burns her cheeks and churns in her belly. “Bad thing?”

“I suppose it depends on why you’re watching me.”

“Learning.”

“Learning? About me?” Lena’s tone is equal parts curiosity and amusement, seemingly a Luthor staple. “Okay, well, what have you learned so far?”

She says it quietly, hoping it’s enough to mitigate whatever fallout is to come, “You’re sad.”

Silence fills the empty space between them, and any part of Lena that might have been enjoying this exchange till now noticeably languishes and dies. She stares up at the sky, then down at the ground between her feet, then at nothing.

It hurts. The gnawing sensation in her stomach spreads, rippling across her skin like the green light, recasting everywhere it touches for the worse. She rolls her right hand into a shaky fist; it doesn’t help.

“Sorry,” she says, which relieves the feeling somewhat, but not nearly enough that she can bear it outright. She’s never been so aware of her own breathing before.

“Why? It’s not like you were wrong.” Lena laughs again, but it’s a soft tremor of an exhale, like a sound meant for no one to hear. She clears her throat, rubbing at her arms with a barely stifled shiver. “It’s getting cold. I should probably get back inside.”

For one suspended moment, she wonders if their agreement will survive the night. But her misgivings quickly lose any footing when Lena lingers in the doorway before disappearing.

“But, hey, eat those chocolates, okay?” she calls over her shoulder. “You’ll like them, I promise.”

She nods eagerly. “Yes, thank you.”

“‘Kay… Good night.”

Lena leaves abruptly, the glass door sliding shut behind her, every light snuffing out all at once. But it still is; a good night, that is.

//

The next time she ventures onto Lena’s balcony, the words tumble forth before Lena can even greet her, before even _she_ can greet Lena, “I like chocolates.”

Lena is only briefly startled. “Well, I never tire of hearing that I’m right, of course, but I’m glad you enjoyed them.” Her smile is tired and small, but somehow no less genuine for it. “Actually… would you like some more?”

 _“Yes,”_ she says immediately.

In a few short minutes, Lena reemerges from her apartment dressed in warmer clothes, balancing two mugs, a thermos, and a light blanket in her arms. It’s a welcome, if somewhat confusing sight, until Lena starts making her way over.

Chest firing up, she instinctively shrinks back, molding herself up against the darkness as tiny as possible, already preparing to take off at a moment’s notice. But then, Lena stops. She spreads the blanket out just a few paces from the threshold between them.

“I promise not to look, as long as you promise not to kill me,” Lena says as she takes her seat, pointedly facing her back to the corner _._

She lets out an indignant huff, “I don’t _kill.”_

“Yes, I know, so… don’t keep me waiting.” It’s a command, but a delightful one, so saturated with smiles and good intention. Plus, Lena’s pouring something warm and made of chocolate into each mug, which can almost rival her softly delighted laughter in terms of persuasion.

So, when Lena sets a mug down beside her, and waits—waits for _her—_ she approaches the light, hesitating only when she’s close enough to touch Lena, to be seen by Lena if she were only to turn around.

She reaches for the mug slowly, so as not to startle, her kryptonite-cursed hand extending from the darkness and into view. Lena glances over, and she _must_ see her hand… but there’s no reaction. Lena doesn’t withdraw or even gasp; her heartbeat doesn’t predictably quicken in an acute fear response, somehow faring far more comfortably than her own despite being so vulnerable to attack.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Lena asks, facing forward again, the flow of her voice at ease yet teasing. “You _do_ know how cups work, right?”

“… Yes.” She snatches the mug into the darkness with her, quick enough that the some of the contents spill over onto her hand. It’s warm, and just a little sticky against her skin. She licks up the back of her hand, and just… _sighs,_ because it’s surprisingly better than the boxed chocolates. So much warmer, so much sweeter, so much closer to Lena.

“So, do you like it?”

She stares at the back of Lena’s neck, so pale and exposed and human. “I love.”

Lena laughs, ducking her head. “Of course you do. Normally, I’d prefer a little bit of a kick with mine, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take to that. And this…” She takes a small sip from her mug, her sigh endlessly content. “Well, this is nice too.”

“Very nice,” she agrees with a nod. Tamping down on every instinct, every inevitably learned inclination meant to keep her breathing and intact, she turns her back to Lena, crouching down on her side of the divide. She keeps far away enough that they’re not touching, but stays just close enough to feel the air thrumming against her back with Lena’s warmth.

“Are you cold?” Lena asks, shivering as if on cue. 

“No. Never cold.”

There’s a slight pause, then Lena takes a deep, decisive breath. “… _Huh._ Okay, so… what do you with my scarf then?”

“Look at it. Watch it… Sometimes sleep.” The sudden lull in their conversation is surprising, then alarming. She can practically hear Lena’s every individual blink, can see Lena’s brow creasing in her mind’s eye. “Bad thing?”

“I suppose there are worse things…”

“So… _bad_ thing,” she concludes, frowning, her right palm now itchy for the insistent bite of her own fingernails.

“No,” Lena says quickly. “I mean, not necessarily. It’s just… unexpected maybe?” Her laughter is short, but not forced, making everything better again “Not that I knew what to expect, of course… But still, I don’t think it’s a bad thing, no.”

She drops her gaze down into her mug. “Still not scared…?”

“Still not scared,” Lena confirms, her tone certain and steady, which is more than enough to keep the world turning on its axis for the night.

//

She’s miles away when the commotion reaches her ears—shattering glass, a scuffle, some shouts—but it doesn’t warrant her attention until she hears Lena’s panicked voice rising above the din.

By then, nothing could have kept her away.

Crashing straight into Lena’s office, she seizes the two closest men by the collar and flings them right off the balcony. Bullets glance off her back, then her face and chest when she turns around, then her forearm when she raises it over her face. She grabs the nearest thing—Lena’s white desk—and sends it flying through the air. The gunfire stops, and when she uses her freeze vision to riddle the desk with icicles, all movement underneath it comes to a stop as well.

“Bizarrogirl!”

She whirls around, teeth bared as she faces the final assailant. He’s holding a gun to Lena’s head with one hand, and has the other wrapped around her neck, which already merits a death sentence.

But then, it gets impossibly worse.

“… Bizarrogirl?” Lena echoes in shock and wonder, and… everything’s terrible now. Because Lena’s precious green eyes are wide as they roam all over her face and hands and hulking form, and there’s just simply nowhere to hide anymore.

Within seconds, the gun’s been reduced to brittle debris and the gunman is wheezing as she drags him across the night sky by his throat.

 _“Why?”_ she snarls at him, hauling him higher and higher into the air. “Why, why, _why?”_

He struggles to speak, tugging in vain at the ever tightening grip around his windpipe, but when he finally manages to rasp out a single word, it startles her into a complete stop. She’s numb all over and all throughout her body as she lets the man slip out of her grasp.

The man plummets for the ground, but his shouts and eventual _thud!_ are barely audible over the stuttering loop of his voice uttering Lex’s name, now rattling ruthlessly about her skull.

//

She has to tell Lena.

She hasn’t seen Lex in months now, and whatever hold he might have wielded over her has all but evaporated in the face of his most unforgivable transgression.

It won’t be easy. Her fumbling access to language has always been her greatest obstacle, but she can say Lex’s name. And if needed, she can bring Lena her tablet, which probably contains some valuable information as well.

Lena’s smart— _very_ smart—and she’ll be able to connect all the dots and then some.

And then, it’ll be fine.

She won’t have to feel that awful burning in her stomach anymore, nor keep anything at bay with her right hand painfully clenched.

She’d be doing the right thing—the _good_ thing.

A new sense of excitement spurs her forward as she sets off for Lena’s apartment, flying in the face of absolutely everything she’s been trained for. Because this is something she’s decided for herself, a conclusion she’s come to all on her own. Because Lena deserves to know. Because Lena’s only ever been candid with her, and could very well be in danger if she doesn’t do the same.

But when she finally reaches the balcony, she never gets the chance to venture out of the darkness. Because Lena—as she realizes with her conviction now faltering—isn’t alone this time.

Kara is there with her, acting all noble and human despite her lack of glasses and the way her hair is tumbling freely over her shoulders like Supergirl’s. It’s impossible to tell whether she’s there to protect Lena from Lex’s men or from Bizarrogirl herself.

She hovers just out of view, every one of her options winking out of existence one after the other, and watches Kara pacing with Lena, comforting Lena, touching Lena’s face, then leaning in and—

Metal crunches in her hand, the balcony railing collapsing and suddenly wrenched free. It startles them into springing apart and looking over, but she’s gone by then, already hurtling toward the one place she could still escape to.

//

How could she ever think that Lena would need her?

//

The sensations all bleed into each other, colors running, sounds spilling over and flooding her understanding of the world.

She remembers crashing through the wall, her bed upended and torn in half, men shouting from a distance, and shelves upon shelves being ripped down almost of their own accord.

When there’s nothing else to break, she breaks everything in a different way. Then another way. Then another. Then yet another, because she’s been denied so many facets of humanity, and yet the very worst of it somehow _still_ finds a way to endure in her like this.

Eventually winding down and nerveless, she hears his approach long before his voice saunters over into her space.

“What’s wrong?” Lex asks.

She whips her head around with a growl, sending a burst of ice skating past his head, mere inches from disfiguring his face the same way he’d done to her hand. It’s the closest she’s ever come to hurting him, and Lex doesn’t even flinch.

“Come on,” he says in a drawl. “You can use your words.”

“You tried to _hurt_ Lena.” She draws herself up to her full height, teeth gritted and bared.

“Yes. But only to teach you something.”

“Teach _what?”_

With a slow smile creeping over his face, Lex kicks into view the freshly twisted hunk of railing from Lena’s balcony. “You tell me.”

She clenches her jaw, clenches her right hand into a trembling fist, and spits out, “Supergirl _loves_ Lena.”

“And that’s the reason for this impromptu spot of decoration?” Lex asks, gesturing at the destruction around them with a flick of his wrist.

“Lena… loves Supergirl too.”

“Oh, Bizarrogirl…” Lex shakes his head, gentle and all the more reprehensible for it. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t see this coming. The hero _always_ gets the girl, just by virtue of loving her first.”

“… Lena wasn’t scared,” is all she can say in answer, and Lex’s smile widens, sending a slight chill throughout the room and deep within her spine.

“It’s all the same though, isn’t it?” he says with a patient sigh. “Doesn’t matter whether you’re human or super, or even pieced together in a laboratory through sheer ego and science. At the end of the day, we all just want something we probably don’t deserve. Something that life will never give us…” He flashes her a crooked grin. “Well, _willingly,_ that is.”

She scowls, entirely unsure of how she’s meant to participate in this conversation. But Lex doesn’t seem to mind. He just heads for the door, casually tossing a glance over his shoulder, as if expecting her to follow him.

So, she does.

She gets into the backseat of a car with him, and sits quietly while he hums and takes intermittent sips from his martini glass. They’re driven to a remote location just outside of city limits, farther than she’s ever ventured on her own, and the inherent stillness of the stark setting leaves her unsettled.

Lex presses on, however, ushering her out of the car and into a cramped elevator that takes them so deep underground that all sounds of civilization fall away, even to her ears.

After a long, crawling descent, the elevator doors finally open up to a largely empty structure with white gleaming walls and sterile air.

“Max Lord was a tinkerer with no imagination. Giving you life, yet nothing proper to live for,” Lex says, his words bouncing around the corridor in a slight echo as he leads her deeper into the compound. “So, I’m going to give you something that he couldn’t give you. Something that Lena—even in her infinite generosity could _never_ give you.”

That almost gets her to stop in her tracks, to double back and leave out the way they came through, even if it meant smashing through half a mile of concrete and dirt. But they’ve already reached their apparent destination: a lone door, situated far, far away from all the rest.

Lex punches a series of numbers into the side panel, shaking his head with a low chuckle. “Hell,” he mutters to himself. “I’m going to give you something that Frankenstein himself couldn’t give to his own creation…”

Harsh fluorescent lights snap on, automatic and blinding, and she rears back with a snarl. But her eyes quickly adjust, along with the rest of her, which is when she sees it.

Lex’s other project.

It’s under a stark white sheet, completely covered save for a single arm hanging off the table. There’s so many wires attaching whatever’s underneath to the large computer at its bedside that it surpasses the highest number that she knows the name of.

Her voice is gravel; her throat’s been dried up and dammed. “… Alive?”

“Not yet,” Lex says, his smile clearly all too pleased. “Was waiting for you to come around first.” He turns to the computer, hits a few switches, and presses down on a single button with his thumb.

All in all, it’s uneventful.

The machine comes to life with a vague whirring sound. There’s smoke and some rapid flickering of the overhead lights. Then, there’s nothing as everything dies back down again.

Several moments that could pass for lifetimes come and go, but Lex remains completely unconcerned, stepping back to take in the boring view of nothing happening.

“Patience, Bizarrogirl,” he calls out, as if sensing her sudden urge to rip the flimsy sheet off the table. “Birth is already so traumatic as it is.”

She stares as hard as she can without freezing anything over, scanning for any movement, any sign of life… but ultimately, she ends up hearing it first.

Blood rushing. The jerky thumps that steadily even out into something functioning. Shallow intakes of air as the body slowly expands, its lungs filling out for the very first time.

The exposed arm twitches first, then the rest of the body starts to shift and stretch, oh so grudgingly roused. Wracked with a slight tremor, the pale hand jerkily makes it way onto the sheet, fisting itself into the cheap material before tearing it off with a fitful flourish.

The sight hits her like a shock of blue kryptonite, practically fatal as it riddles her skin with cool sweat and sharp pinpricks of unbearable heat.

It tumbles out of her mouth not as a discovery or even a revelation, but rather as the most simple, whispered confirmation possible, “Lena…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come bully me anonymously on tumblr c:


End file.
